


Branded

by PatchworkKat



Series: Athros Chronicles [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Branding, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4900984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkKat/pseuds/PatchworkKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian enjoys a lazy morning with his lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Branded

Slow, lazy mornings in bed with his boyfriend were Dorian’s new favorite thing. Right up there with having a boyfriend in the first place. On this particular morning Josephine had announced that the dignitaries Athros was to meet with were delayed and he could have a free day. By now it was well past noon, neither man had bothered getting dressed, and Dorian was lazily tracing his lovers tattoos. 

“That one’s for Mythal, the protector.” Athros yawned as Dorian traced over the tree like markings on that spanned his shoulder blades. 

“The one in your head?” Athros gave a little nod, too content to form more than short bursts of conversation. So Dorian moved on to the elegant, fern like markings that curved over his hips. “This one?” 

“Dirthamen, keeper of secrets.” He sounded as if he was reciting a lesson. “That one hurt when I got it. Not as bad as the face but enough to make me want to cry out. Lips were the worst.” The darker half of Athros’ face was turned toward him so Dorian leaned over to press a quick kiss to the lips in question. It earned him a little smile. Then he moved back to his exploration. 

“What about this one?” He traced the outline of a stylized wolf on Athros’ right ass cheek and it earned him a giggle. Maker’s breath he loved that laugh. On the left was a phrase that Dorian couldn’t decipher. 

Athros chanted out an elven phrase, still laughing. “It means,” he supplied when he noticed Dorian’s confused look, “may the Dread Wolf kiss my ass. I was, what seventeen? We’d stolen the Keeper’s supplies and were giving each other stupid tattoos.” He rolled over and stretched out. “Mmm, we were so drunk. Keeper Deshanna was furious when she finally found us. Its spelled wrong, you know? That’s what I get for letting a drunken archer tattoo my ass.” 

“I thought the Keeper’s first was supposed to be dignified?” Dorian teased. 

“Yeah, yeah rub it in. I was a rebellious brat. Never wanted to be First, you know? I wanted to be a hunter like everyone else in my family.” He made a face that Dorian knew all too well. As if he was born to disappoint his family. So Dorian stole another kiss to distract him. 

“Tell me about the others.” His fingers were strategically trailing down Athros’ chest. He knew exactly how to pull his lover out of that dark little cloud. The bow like marking on his chest, Andruil, goddess of the hunt. The curling plant-like marking that kissed the top of his belly button, Sylasie, the healer. There were more that covered his arms and hips but they didn’t matter since he was almost at his goal. Dorian’s lips trailed over Sylasie’s marking and down past his navel. Athros rose his hips expectantly. 

His plan was going perfectly until his thumb brushed over an old scar on Athros’ hip. There was something familiar about the marking, something that made him stop to get a better look at it. Not a scar at all, but a brand. He thumbed over it, trying to draw out the memory teasing him. “What is this?” 

“Hmm?” Athros’ voice was thick with desire and it took him a minute to figure out exactly what Dorian was looking at. The second he did he locked up, desire dying instantly. “Nothing! Nothing don’t touch that!” He tried to shove Dorian’s hands away. 

“It looks like…” The memories came crashing back all at once, knocking the breath from him. _The northern most end of the market always smelled vile, like sweat and refuse. He hated coming here but his father had insisted on him learning how to barter with the traders. While his father argued with a man that needed five or so baths before he’d be decent for company, Dorian looked around. Men and women, all elves, were chained or caged in the small semi-circle of the market. The ‘pretty’ ones were all naked, a flowery brand on their hip. His father called to him and he was jogging back, ready to meet their new cook._

He hadn’t thought twice about the plight of those elves back then. It was just the way things were. A thought that Athros would scold him for, or worse, were he to voice it aloud. Now, with that same flower brand marring his beloved’s hip, he saw it through different eyes. “How? You… you’re Dalish!” He felt wrong in his own skin, as if it was all his fault. “How are you branded?” Like a bed slave. He didn’t add that part, couldn’t even bare to think it. 

“Where do you think your slavers go to get fresh blood?” Athros suddenly felt exposed so he tugged a fur over himself. Safely hidden chin to toe he started the story. “I ran away when my magic first came out. I told you, I never wanted to be First. I had this stupid idea that I could go to an alienage and show them the proper way to live or some similar bullshit. I got about a day away from camp when I spotted an elven caravan. They warn us about shems as kids. We know to hide when we see one. No one told us our kind could be just as bad.” 

“Half the traders in Tevintor are elven.” It had always made the trade seem a little more decent to Dorian. Now it just looked sick. 

“Yeah? Well I didn’t know that. I just knew that I was hungry and these nice city elves were feeding me. I didn’t even worry when I got suddenly tired, just drifted off feeling safe.” 

“They drugged you.” 

“Yeah… I woke up when they were branding me. I was already chained up in their cart with the others. The leader, a woman, she kept telling me not to worry. That my pretty looks would land me an easy job. Just lay on my belly all my life and never have to lift a finger.” Dorian hated that he saw what that slaver had seen; wide lips, beautiful green eyes, and slender hips. Athros was a beautiful man. Even worse he knew the sort of man that would have bought him. He had certainly slept with enough of them himself. 

“Your vallaslin… It wouldn’t have been acceptable…” 

“I didn’t have it yet. I wasn’t old enough.” Athros stated it as if it was obvious but it was another mental blow to Dorian. He simply couldn’t imagine it. Athros, beautiful and vibrant as he was, chained up as a scared child. 

So many questions danced on his tongue but, “how did you get free,” seemed like the only one that wouldn’t kill him. How can you stand me touching you? Was his greater concern but he didn’t dare ask. 

“An old friend, Taven, found me. I’d told him I was leaving and had asked him to join me. He refused, but followed when I left on my own. When he saw what happened to me he went back for the hunters. They took out the slavers from the tree line before moving in to free us. Never seen my father as mad as he was that day.” Athros sighed. “He wouldn’t say a word while he dragged me home by the tips of my ears. Just let my mother yell at me.” 

“You… you never made it to Tevintor?” Relief washed through Dorian and he let himself relax. 

“Nope, never seen the place. After everything that happened I swore I’d never leave home again. Not until Keeper Deshanna sent me to the Conclave that is.” Again he shrugged. “I honestly don’t even know what it means. Other than it being a slave brand of course. My family wanted it covered up or removed somehow but… I don’t, know it’s a reminder or something.” Dorian flopped down on the bed beside him, suddenly exhausted. He didn’t know what to say or how to comfort such an old pain. So he just reached out and pulled Athros against his chest, bundle of furs and all. “I’m alright, ma vhenan. It was a long time ago.” 

The pair fell silent as they cuddled for comfort. Eventually Athros opened his arms wide so Dorian could burrow under the furs with him. Soft caresses led to gentle kisses and the pair slowly fell asleep in each other’s arms. 


End file.
